p. 26 | The Desert of Sin by H. H. Dobney

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jan 18, 1883

The Desert of Sin.

By H. H. Dobney

It is objected that to do away with the doctrine of endless torment, by substituting that of a final cessation of existence for the wicked, would weaken most alarmingly the power of the gospel over men's consciences; that it would fearfully diminish the wholesome fear which restrains men from wickedness, and urges them to embrace a Saviour; and that it would thus promote irreligion, and open the flood-gates of licentiousness. How this doctrine would in the nature of things accomplish all these things, has not been argumentatively shown. Those who have urged it have seemed to think it self-evident, or that their assertion is decisive. We may be allowed to remind them, however, of the distinction between declamation and argument. And assuredly we feel no very deep mortification when we observe that on this point, at all events, the former is commonly selected by our opponents, and the latter quietly abandoned to us. And we very cheerfully meet this objection by a reference to philosophy and fact—the philosophy, that is, of human nature, and the facts wherewith Christendom abounds.

Let us first, however, look at their case as stripped of its disguise. They who affirm that it is dangerous to the interests of religion to deny the eternity of hell torment, and is calculated to confirm men in their neglect of God, and to encourage them to persist in sin—are bound in all consistency to consent to the following exposition of their views.

Their objection really amounts to this—"Less than a whole eternity of misery in prospect is not sufficient to alarm the sinner. Religion can make no way without this. Christ can never win all hearts, unless his frown can make a night of infinite horror. Hell is nothing terrible to the guilty, however long its anguish may continue, unless that anguish is to be eternal. Make it only a thousand years, for instance, and people will despise it as a matter of course. For what man would ever draw back from a momentary gratification, if there were nothing more to deter him than the certainty of a hundred years of torment for each transgression? As to destruction—the closing the eye forever on this fair universe—what reasonable being would ever feel this as a dissuasive from sin, or a motive to flee to Christ? No, we must adhere to the scheme of infinite terror, or there is no hope for the spread of the gospel—absolutely none!

"Vain, comparatively, will be the beauty of a Saviour's character, the touching condescension of his loving heart, the tears he wept over the impenitent, the anguish of his soul, and the precious blood he so cheerfully shed in their behalf. Vain, comparatively, all the meekness and gentleness of Christ, all the merciful invitations he gave, all the prospects of heavenly happiness wherewith he endeavors to allure. And vain all the declarations of God's displeasure, all the solemnities of judgment, all the horrors of the sentence of condemnation and the second death. Religion will decrease in our land, and in the world. Men will grow hardened in sin, despite all other motives, if we do not assert that their future torment will be eternally prolonged. The idea of their miserable destruction merely, is therefore subversive of religion, and fatal to men's interests. It will be comparatively useless to besiege them on the side of their hopes, or to address their affections, or enlist their judgment, or even to arouse their fears, unless a whole infinity of horror be brought to bear upon them."

This in reality is the sum and substance of one of the commonest objections to our views. And our opponents who avail themselves of it, must in fairness utter themselves thus. But will they do this? Will they do it, when their sentiment is stripped of its disguise, and presented in a common-sense form? If they will, whence did they derive their knowledge of human nature, I ask; and with what eyes have they looked on the world around them?

But we spoke just now of facts. Let us glance at our native land. England is, or ought to be, the most religious country under heaven. We say, then, to the objector, Look around. In our little island, more than twenty thousand preachers constantly proclaim the doctrine of never-ending torment. It is the creed of the Church of England, the Church of Rome, the Church of Scotland, and the Free Church, the large Wesleyan body, with all the numerous offshoots therefrom, the Congregational body, including its two sections of Baptists and Pedobaptists, and all the minor sects, with the exception of a handful of men holding the doctrine of restoration, who, being so very few, are scarcely to be accounted of in speaking of the country at large. So that England is emphatically filled with the doctrine of eternal misery.

It has reigned and triumphed here. None have called it in question. It has had a free course and been glorified. All that learning, eloquence, and imagination, sanctified by genuine piety and deep devotion, could do to set forth this doctrine, has been done, and done for centuries. Divines more learned and profound, preachers more earnest and powerful and sincere, no country ever produced. And every pulpit has been a stronghold for the doctrine of never-ending torment, every church and chapel its sanctuary, and every congregation its devoted and zealous body-guard. Yet at this very moment all the religious bodies are deploring, in their periodicals, the fact that not only do they not gain upon the population, but that relatively to the increase of the population they are declining.

But it is not to the condition of the religious bodies themselves that I refer so much. It is to the state of the masses. On these the religious bodies can make little or no impression. There are preachers in every parish and hamlet of our land, and Bibles in every house, and tracts circulated by tens of thousands in all directions, and yet vice and irreligion confessedly abound among all classes. How is this? Evidently not for want of a sufficient amount of terror. Our Edwardses among divines, and Polloks among poets, and Melvilles among fashionable declaimers, have almost reveled (if one may be excused the expression, not using it in any offensive sense) in descriptions of never-ending torment. And it is not, from the crowded church to the Methodist preaching room, that there has been any lack of unquenchable fire, and undying worms, and lakes of brimstone, that the mass of the people are careless about their souls.

From their childhood, in our Sunday-schools, and upward, they have heard about "forever dying, and yet never dead." The "wrath of God" and "eternal damnation" have been profusely dispensed. And yet after an uninterrupted reign for centuries of this doctrine of never-ending misery, to use the every-day expression, runs down our streets like water. And everybody sees that it is so. Let every reader only reflect on the state of his own neighborhood for one serious hour, and he may be appalled.

Yet that Christianity teaches the eternity of hell torments, the irreligious know full well that all the preachers and religious people say so. Put the question where you will,—What does Christianity teach of the future condition of the wicked? and from every ale-bench, and every brothel, and every gaol, you will have the reply wherewith orthodoxy has indoctrinated the country. So that I am abundantly entitled to affirm, that the popular belief is comparatively impotent to restrain from sin, and allure to Christ and holiness. To all who reiterate that the idea of unending torment is essential to restrain the sinner, I say, Look around! Where are the masses whom it does restrain? Will the metropolis of "Christian England" be adduced? Or, if vice must be expected to stalk in the city, will our rural districts answer the purpose of our objectors? Alas! facts are against them—all the facts.

We may advance a step. Not only does the scheme of infinite terror fail to impress the popular mind; but what if it should be, that this very dogma has done more to alienate the people from the religion that was affirmed to teach it, than anything else? Look ye, my reader. A man who is quite conscious that he has declined grievously from the right path is told that, unless he repent, etc., he will forever and forever lie sweltering in the fire of God's wrath. Pains are taken to make the future as dreadful as words and imagery can make it. Eternity is attempted to be realized. He is assured that when he has existed in torment as many centuries as there are leaves in the forest, or sand grains on the shore, or atoms in the world, he will even then have only entered on his punishment; and that forever and forevermore he will writhe in anguish, "forever dying, and yet never dead!"

Now what is the result? Suppose the listener to be a common-sense, shrewd sort of man. He instinctively feels, and he perhaps expresses his feeling, that this threatened infinity of torment for the careless sinfulness (for he acknowledges thus much) of a few years, is out of all proportion—the infinite for the finite! He deems it not merely unjust, but the bare enunciation of it an outrage on his understanding. And he says so. The speaker departs, confirmed in his crude notions of the malignant depravity that inheres in human nature, and satisfied with his own pious but impotent attempt to reclaim him. The sinner also goes his way, irritated and uneasy. He recalls the conversation; sees again that it cannot be proved to be just to punish him infinitely; and concludes either that this cannot be the doctrine of Scripture, or else that the Bible cannot be true. Either way, he is harmed; and in a moody state of mind he joins his companions, who in loud tones agree that there is injustice in the dogma that "the serious" preach, and that they are not to be listened to.

Now, if Christianity do not contain this doctrine, as we affirm it does not, with what a fearful curse has orthodoxy blighted that man's soul! God appeals to the people themselves whether his ways are not just and equal; and an apostle "by manifestation of the truth, commended himself to every man's conscience." But the pious and devoted friend I have supposed, instead of this, does the very reverse; and having alienated the sinner still further from God, endeavors to relieve his pious and praiseworthy solicitude by pillowing his head on some other doctrine of his faith; and original sin, or human depravity, or the sovereignty of grace and the inscrutable mysteries of providence, or election, will come to his aid. Whereas that man had a heart, if the speaker had only known the secret way to it. It was not barred at every portal. And he had a conscience too, slumbering it may be, but able to be awakened, if only he had known how to lay a kindly hand upon it. Oh yes—

"The darkest hath that shrouds the sky, Of beauty hath a share; The blackest heart hath signs to tell That God still lingers there."

Speaking in the belief that the popular doctrine is not taught in Scripture, I do not hesitate to affirm that anything more perfectly adapted to harden men's hearts against God, and hinder them from beginning to think aright of him, could not have been contrived. Its legitimate effects have been most disastrous. Would we seek for the rationale of infidelity, it might to a considerable extent be found in this—that religious men, having for the most part misapprehended the truth of Scripture on this point, have unconsciously and with the best intentions, presented the God of revelation in such a light that his creatures, whom he would fain have addressed through them and won to himself, have been scared at the terrific aspect. "The God whom we are required to love is a God who, if I continue in sin, will keep me alive forever and ever in torment, by way of punishment; and this, they say, is the declaration of the Bible; then either the Bible is not really his word, or else he is fearfully unjust," have ejaculated thousands.

By all means proclaim the "terrors of the Lord," we say. He would be a traitor to humanity who should refrain. But take heed and not exaggerate the words of truth and soberness. Remember the God you speak of is a righteous God; and while he will not shrink from executing the sentence which calm and unimpassioned justice pronounces, yet never will he exceed this. Human passions belong not to him, nor will his righteous displeasure ever degenerate into revenge.—From "Future Punishment," by H. H. Dobney.